Both yachts sounded their fog-horns simultaneously just as a final big, thick, white blanket of mist rolled in and shut them out of each other's view.
"Done! Beaten out!" groaned Mr. Jephson, savagely. "It's only a question of minutes, now, when we shall have lost all trail of that craft on this hidden waste of water!"
"Only a question of minutes?" repeated Tom Halstead, grimly. "Is it?"
CHAPTER XIII THE CALL FROM OUT OF THE FOG
Out of the dense fog to port came a chorus of derisive yells, then a prolonged blast of the "Victor's" fog-horn.
"That's as much as saying it's the last time we'll hear their toot," burst, savagely, from Mr. Baldwin.
"Maybe it is the last time," admitted Tom.
Mr. Jephson and the owner began to talk excitedly.
"Sh!" warned the young skipper. "We don't want a tone aboard louder than a whisper. If we can keep this interval, or pretty near it, we can follow the steam yacht by the sound of her machinery. Mr. Davis, keep your ears strained for it, and shape our course accordingly."